Marquess Henryson
Prologue - General Information Name: Marquess Henryson Dynasty: Leyton Position: King of the Kingdom of Leyton Sworn To: The Emperor ' '''Lands * Kingdom of Leyton * County of Willes * Barony of Willesborough '''Liberties' * Ability to claim new land for the Kingdom and ultimately the Empire * Word is Law ' ' Details * Marquess was born to a lowborn named Henry Leyton, whose father was named Leyton. and his wife, Matilda. * Henry was very educated, despite lacking nobility status, and fell into good favor with the Emperor in his thirties. * Henry served as an Advisor to the Emperor for many years, and in his final years of service he was instrumental in acquiring new territory from the League of Free Cities, namely, a Barony called Willesborough. * Henry was eventually burned at the stake by the Emperor, and to make up for it his son, Marquess, would be granted Willesborough, and as a result the rest of Henry’s descendants would live on in glory and grace. The new Emperor took it a step further, though, and made Marquess a King. This would allow for easier colonization and expansion. * Still mourning the loss of his father, Marquess packed up his things, sold his family house and took his wife to Willesborough to serve his Emperor, as his father had. * Willesborough would need a name. He decided to name it after his grandfather, Leyton. He thought his father would approve. Chapter 1 - Childhood & Rise to Power Marquess was born to Grand Scribe Henry I, son of Leyton the Nobody, in the slums district of the Imperial City. His father was to be selected the new Grand Scribe just a few short years into Marquess’ life. As a result, Marquess grew up in the Imperial Palace, surrounded by the highest nobility. Of course, being born a commoner, he was more often serving this class than participating in their feasts and parties, but he still had the privilege of meeting and speaking with the higher class daily. He often found himself serving the Emperor’s son, Marcus, more than anyone else, and as a result they grew as friends and were tutored together in the art of swords. While being trained as a scribe, s trained as a scribe, though he also acquired some military training through favors owed to his father. When Emperor Borus the Mad was being besieged, he ordered the Imperial City destroyed, burnt, and Marquess’ father alongside it. When the slaughtering and burning began, Marquess’ military tutor ushered him away to safety, returning him to the Imperial Palace when things had settled down and Emperor Marcus had control of the city. His tutor explained what had happened to Marquess’ father, and Marquess was granted shelter and safety, as well as a room in the upper levels of the Palace, a great privilege. That night, Emperor Marcus came into Marquess’ room and apologized for the actions of his father. To make up for his crimes, Emperor Marcus granted Marquess lands that were recently acquired by the Empire, and told him he could name it as a Kingdom and hold it for his own. Marquess didn’t know what to say. He didn’t even know if he wanted to be a King, but his Emperor had called upon him, and he wasn’t about to shirk that responsibility. Marquess was going to rule. He decided to name the lands after his grandfather, Leyton, and he took that name as his House name as well. After gathering a group of trusted men to help him develop the kingdom, he set off East in search of meaning, closure and his destiny. Chapter 2 - The New King Marquess looked ahead to the waters in the north. A beach lay there, inviting as it soaked in the sun of the bright morning. He glanced back to the workers he had brought with him. They were to construct a temporary quarter that would double as a storage shed. Some would say no King should subject himself to such conditions, but Marquess was new to the role and still had trouble placing himself so high above others. “Almost there, your Highness.” said the Captain, seeming to sneaking up on Marquess. “Aye. I can almost see the grand castle we will build.” he replied. Indeed, there was an ideal spot near a river on a hill. Perfect, as his father would say. Marquess’ face must have drooped as this thought came to him, as the Captain left him alone to ponder his thoughts. The Captain would go back to the wheel of the vessel and take his hat off for a moment. “Boy has a lot on his mind,” he would say. Indeed, the death of his father had struck Marquess greatly. He was a boy, forced into manhood by circumstance, and only time would tell whether he would meet the great challenge set before him. * * *''' ' Marquess awoke with a sudden jolt. He was laying in a cot in the makeshift shelter the workers had made after landing. The first rays of daylight were streaming through the thin roof. Marquess sighed. He had been dreaming about his encounter with the Emperor just a fortnight past… “You are to be King of the new lands,” the recently crowned Emperor had told him, expecting him to rejoice. Instead, Marquess frowned, and said, “Me?” “Of course, you! Who else but the son of the man who served my father as his right hand his entire life?” “But those weren’t my actions, sir.” Marquess had said. “Pish posh. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, Marquess. If you are half the man your father was, this will be a grand investment.” the Emperor had said, cocking his eyebrow. “Investment?” Marquess had asked. “You didn’t think I’d send you with just the clothes on your back, did you?” the Emperor had chuckled. Marquess shook his head and reached for his breeches. He didn’t have time to linger on the past today. There was much to do. * * * Chapter 3 - Awaiting New Arrivals Marquess Henryson sat in his spruce wood chair, overlooking the renovated interior of Castle Willesborough. They had found the fort in shambles, forgotten and abandoned by time, but the Imperial Advisor sent by the Emperor made quick work of the place, ordering the construction of wooden overlooks, as well as a remodeling of the inside. He had done the same with a Manor to the north, and Marquess had decided to make that the center of the second fief of the kingdom, Remyn, named after the man he had brought with him to manage the common populace, Lord Charles Remyngton. Marquess begun to imagine the events that would occur here, the coronations of his children, the knighting of his closest protectors, weddings, feasts, announcements, speeches. It was a lot to take in. He shook the thoughts from his head, and headed outside and across the drawbridge. Breathing in the fresh air, he set off down the path north. Walking, he realized that many would be following in his footsteps as they arrived at the new kingdom. He wondered where they would come from, and who they would turn into. He would certainly have some nobles in his court soon. Marquess chuckled, thinking, ''If I can rise above my station, why can’t someone else?’ The manor came into sight soon enough, a very visible building set upon a hilltop, with an inner wall around it and a second, outer wall being constructed. Marquess guessed this would be where Charles would keep his retainers. Walking across the bridge, he began to hear his newest lord managing the construction of the second wall. As the man saw Marquess, one of the workers, a falkean lad, dropped a load of stone and made a loud ruckus. Charles cursed as the men scrambled to pick up the mess, then greeted his King. “Hail, your highness.” said Charles, “Come, let me show you our progress.” “Greetings. How are things coming here?” asked Marquess as they walked. “They are coming along alright. The manor still has a few cobwebs, but it’s mostly repaired ready for living. We’ve also begun renovating some tower-like structures, and we believe they could be used as bishoprics.” explained Charles, pointing around him. “Good, good.” the King was silent for a moment as they reached the doors of the Manor. “This is it, Charles. The beginning of history.” “Aye. A new Era. A new Kingdom. A new King.” Charles finished, eyeing the King. A new king. * * * Marquess sat up in his bed for the fifth time that night. It was well past sundown, and it was times like this that he was glad royalty slept apart. Nothing stopped him from visiting his wife, or vice versa, but having separate rooms meant his insomnia didn’t keep up those his loved. He stood up, and walked over to his desk, reviewing the many documents that had been thrust toward him recently. Imperial decrees, expansion plans, and title-management papers had been the focus of his days, and he didn’t think it was going to stop. Marquess sighed, pushing the papers away, for the most part, away. One caught his eye, however, and he picked it up for the twentieth time. It read: IMPERIAL DECREE ON THIS DAY, JANUARAH THE 2ND, HIS HOLINESS EMPEROR MARCUS THE PIOUS HAS SEEN FIT TO CREATE THE KINGDOM OF LEYTON AND AWARD IT TO THE SON OF THE LATE GRAND SCRIBE, (NOW) KING MARQUESS LEYTON. HIS HIGHNESS OF THE KINGDOM OF LEYTON HAS DEEMED IT APPROPRIATE TO GRANT SERFDOMS TO THOSE WISHING FOR A NEW START IN A NEW LAND. TRAVEL BY CARRIAGE OR BY BOAT TO THE STRAIGHT CONNECTING THE TWO SIDES OF THE CONTINENT, AND REGISTER WITH THE IMPERIAL ADVISOR ASSIGNED TO THE KINGDOM. Marquess, of course, hadn’t had anything to do with the announcement. The new Grand Scribe had written it up at the behest of the Emperor. Marquess had been told to expect the new arrivals in the next month, in a separate message sent to him by raven. He had read the decree countless times, and it had stayed on his desk through the turbulent exchanging of official papers so far. It was really hitting him. He was going to be a king. He was going to have subjects, and expectations. How am I to act kingly? He sighed again. This was certainly not what his father expected to happen to him in his life. As such, he felt he hadn’t been properly prepared. Destiny chooses you, you don’t choose it. You only choose whether to rise to the call it makes, the expectations it has of you. The words were his father’s. A lot of Marquess’ words were. They were no less true, though. Marquess sighed for a third time, put down the paper and went back to his bed to attempt to rest once more. * * *